


there is a light in your eyes

by saviourism (kjllianjones)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends! AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjllianjones/pseuds/saviourism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night that should have had Killian Jones in and out of her apartment forever leads to something more than Emma Swan bargained for - a friendship. She’s never really had anyone to drink with, never really had anyone to sit on her couch with her and make fun of daytime dramas with, never really had anyone to care for, and anyone that cared for her. Eventually, this friendship grows into something entirely new. Modern!AU Captain Swan, written for Kristiana a.k.a. rolliejogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is a light in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a fluffy Christmas fic. It turned into this, whoops. Merry late Christmas, Kristiana!

**[ part i. ] we push and pull**

She should want this. She should. Why wouldn’t she? The problem was not that he was not attractive (far from that, actually), nor that he was a particularly bad kisser (it was very satisfying, if truth be told). Yet, she wasn't feeling any of it.

His lips pressed hard against hers, eager for more, and she was trying - she really was, because God knew she needed it - but something was pulling her back. His hands played at the buttons on her shirt as he leaned her against the wall. At another place, another time, perhaps this would have been different; perhaps she would have fallen so easily into this man’s arms (because, damn it, he really was attractive) and they would have spent the night together. But timing was a bitch and loved toying with its victims.

“Okay, yeah, I - I can’t do this -” she says as she pulls away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders.

“What’s the problem?” he says, his breathing rapid.

She keeps her eyes down, staring blankly at the charm on his necklace, anything to avoid looking in his eyes. “I just - no, I can’t. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” And with that, she releases him completely and walks past him, hand on her forehead and full of regret. Her cheeks are flaming with embarrassment and she just wishes he’d leave without another word for her own benefit.

“Are you...alright?” he says from behind her, and she knows that he’s likely giving her those eyes, those knowing eyes that he gave her at the bar but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.” Then, nervously - “If you can lock your door on the way out, I’d - I’d appreciate it.”

She doesn't hear a reply, but instead, several soft footsteps, heading towards her. “Listen...if you just - need to talk, I've been told I’m a great listener.”

She grins wryly, despite everything. “Yeah, and if I needed to vent to a total stranger, I would've stayed at the bar.”

“Well, you were willing to go home with one.”

The heat returned to her face. “Yeah, but - talking’s a lot more...intimate”

“More intimate than sex?”

“Emotionally, yeah.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she regrets that she let it go this far, that she let a man in her house so soon after kicking one out and that he’s here watching her regret. A man who came looking for a flimsy one night stand and instead got a girl far too broken to give him one. The awkwardness of the situation makes her want to run and hide under a blanket.

Suddenly he walks past her. For a hopeful, blessed moment, Emma believes he’s only retrieving his leather jacket that had been thrown on the couch when they had arrived to her apartment, so that he may leave. However, he does not. He turns and looks straight at her, and something in his eyes makes her heat up inside. Sighing, he settles on the couch, looking nowhere near to leaving.

“What are you doing?”

“Sit, love,” he says, patting the seat besides him.

“No,” says Emma, tone stern and confused. “I told you to leave.”

He doesn't. He only gives her a solemn look (with those damn knowing eyes) and smiles sadly at her. “I don’t know you very well. I know that. But I figure I’d be an arse if I left this place without at least trying to help.”

It bewilders her that this man - this stranger - is offering...well, who knows what. Advice? Comfort? Whatever it was, she wanted none of it. The genuine look in his eyes proved that perhaps he believed he was being helpful, but really, it was unnecessary and in fact, a little bizarre.

But the longer she’s looking at him, the longer she lets him look at her with those _damning eyes_ , the less she feels alone, the more she feels pulled towards him. It wasn’t _him_ , exactly - it was more of a personal thing, more of the fact that she just needed _someone_.

She considers this (and unconsciously, she considers Neal and how he never tried to help), and involuntarily, something deep inside her connects with those eyes that appear to be looking right at her (not through her, like Neal’s always did) and she’s studying the man sitting on her couch and she realizes that she doesn't really want him to leave. If he were to, she’d be alone, again, and she’s been alone long enough for her to know that maybe she should just sit on the damn couch and cry into a perfect stranger’s shoulder.

And she does just that. Her typically strong composure just breaks and her common sense is pushed aside as she sits beside him, cautious at first, as she will always be. As he sees how hesitant she is, he moves closer to her, heedful all the same, allowing her to get comfortable. She’s wary and leans in the opposite direction, but when he puts his arm around her and pulls her into his shoulder, that is when the tears start and that is when she loses all control.

**~ K & E ~**

Her eyes blink open - once, lazily - twice, confused, because she is woken to her living room instead of her bedroom and her mind struggles to recollect the past night’s events. Her back aches from the couch she apparently slept on and there’s a blanket over her that she pulls off as she sits up. The smell of food hits her nose as an unexpected voice rings from behind her.

“Morning, lass.”

This startles her and she turns around to see - none other than Killian Jones, the man who she - wait, did she?

“I hope you don’t mind - I snuck into your fridge and decided to fry up a spot of breakfast. Thought you could use it.” He’s standing behind her breakfast counter, in front of her stove.

She shakes her head, mortified as she recalls how she spent the night. “I...Why…?” Why are you still here? Why didn’t you leave? _This is embarrassing, I want you to leave._

“I hope you like eggs,” he says casually.

She blinks twice at him, all of a sudden baffled at what she let this man do. Raising to stand, she keeps her gaze on him and narrows her eyes. “What...are you doing?”

“Frying eggs.”

“No, I mean - what are you doing in my apartment?”

“You brought me here last night.”

“No. I mean what are you _still_ doing here?”

This is the reaction he’s apparently been expecting because he doesn’t seem offended or in any way bothered. Or perhaps it’s because he’s well aware that what he’s doing justifies the way Emma reacts, after all. There’s a pause before he responds, and much to Emma’s irritation - “Frying eggs.”

“But why?” Emma’s initially soft, confused, sleepy tones quickly evolved to harsher ones.“Is this all just normal business for you? Do you generally go to girls’ houses looking for a one night stand but instead get to be their replacement for a box of kleenex?”

He still appears unaffected, keeping at his damn eggs on the frying pan. “No, but I figured you didn’t want to be alone. Nor that you were in the mood to cook breakfast for yourself, so -”

“Okay, buddy,” Emma says, walking into her kitchen and reaching across him to turn off the stove. “Time to leave. This is getting weird.”

“The eggs weren’t done yet,” he says, turning the burner back on.

“You need to leave.”

“Are you always so quick to kick your one night stands out?”

“You are not my one night stand.”

“What am I, then?” He gives her a teasing grin, but it did not sway her.

“Right now? Some creep frying eggs on my stove.”

For the first time that morning, she properly looks at him. His hair was mussed from sleep (did she share the couch with him?) and he wore an apron (her apron) over his wrinkled clothing. He catches her looking.

“Thought it’d be funny,” he says, gesturing to the apron.

“Yeah, not really.”

He shrugs and returns to his eggs. “Hey, do me a favor, will you, love? Can you retrieve the toast from your toaster? I imagine they should have popped up by now.”

Emma’s eyes widen at the unbelievability of the man before her. “No, I won’t. Okay, look, fine, you looking for appreciation or something? Thanks and all for what you did - and whatever. It was - kind, I guess. But you gotta go. It’s nothing personal, but it’s just...really...awkward having you here, still. I don’t normally…”

“Cry to sleep on a stranger’s shoulder?”

“Yeah - that. Or - cry, really.”

“Not much of an emotion person, are you?”

“No, not really.”

“You had a moment of vulnerability with a man you hardly knew and you embraced it - you accepted it, something I can tell you’d hardly ever do.”

“And you know me so well?”

He smiles at her with just the corner of his mouth. “Well, you’re something of an open book, darling.”

“Don’t call me that,” she says strictly, becoming increasingly annoyed at the coy man standing in her kitchen. _How the hell did it come to this?_ “Don’t call me anything. Can you just - leave? Please? If you really want to help, you’ll leave. Now.”

The grin is gone and what’s left is those eyes ( _damn_ eyes) staring right at her. They were a hard gaze that threatened to bear a hole straight through her head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Quite,” she responds immediately, unsure of the truth, but completely sure that she’d say anything to get him out.

Killian gives her one last, firm look before he sighs and shuts off the burner. He pulls the apron off and hands it to her with a crooked grin, only earning an eye roll from her. He walks over to her doorway slowly, obviously taking his time to deliberately irritate her. But she’s patient, and she’ll wait it out if it means she’ll be free of this humiliation.

“Until we meet again,” he says, smiling softly at her as the door shuts behind him.

Hopefully not. The only good thing that came out of last night was that she got all of her closeted emotions out, and to a stranger is, admittedly, better than to someone she knew. Because she would never see him again.

**~ K & E ~**

She finds herself at the bar again, this time with only one intention - drink.

It’s a Sunday night, and the bar is noticeably emptier than it was the night previous. She didn’t bother to dress nicely this time, as she knew what she wanted and it certainly wasn’t a guy to take home. No, all she wanted tonight was a good drink to take her mind off things.

But timing was still following her around like the bastard it was.

“You’re not looking for another man to take home and cry on, are you?”

The accent is unmistakable, and her eyes begin to roll as he takes the stool besides her. She doesn’t even have to look at him to know he was grinning that infuriating smile. He probably has his eyebrow perked up as well, something he likely thought would capture all the ladies’ hearts. Not her’s.

“God. You again?”

“Pleasure to see you too, lass.”

“Are you following me or…?”

“The accusation is certainly plausible and with justice but no, I am not, for believe it or not, Miss Swan, my life does not revolve around you.”

This gets her attention, as he knew it would, and she turns a little red. “Sorry.”

“It’s nothing. Anyway. I came over to see how you were.”

She straightens her back and gives a breathy sigh, suddenly aware of her behavior towards this Killian. She’s always been told that she could be a little difficult, but this time, she thought Killian’s actions justified her behavior. He was being ridiculously persistent, despite his intentions. “I’m, uh, fine, I guess. Last night - I guess I should say thanks. Or something. Whatever one says to a stranger they unexpectedly unleashed all of their emotions on the night previous.”

He waves it off with his hand, and gestures to the bartender to bring over two drinks. “Was nothing. I’m sure you’d have done the same.”

Emma chuckles, pursing her lips. “Yeah, no. I definitely would not have. If my one night stand started to cry in front of me, I’d have been out the door in two seconds.” She downs the last of her glass. “Hard truth.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, his voice laced with doubt. Finally she glances over at him and sees that he is, in fact, grinning. It is not a mischievous and cocky one, but a genuine smile and it, in return, makes her smile a little.

“It’s true. Though, I’m not saying what you did was entirely admirable either. In fact,” she gives him a teasing grin, “it was a little creepy.”

“Creepy? You were just thanking me!”

“Yeah, and again, thanks. But still - creepy for a stranger to do that for you. You never know what their secret intention is.”

“Well, when you think like that, of course it’s creepy.”

“Ergo, you’re creepy.”

“Enough with that.,” he says, as their new drinks arrive. “It gets a bit tiring, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“That whole ‘I-don’t-care’ business you’ve got going on?”

“Business?” Emma narrows her eyes at him as she takes a glass. “Maybe it’s because I actually, really, genuinely do not care?”

Killian chuckles quietly, as if he knew things she did not. “Lass, you cried yourself to sleep on my shoulder last night. Now I know I’ve only known you for 24 hours but forgive me if I say it’s all a ruse to mask how you truly feel.”

It’s the first time that evening that she doesn’t have anything to fire back with. Instead, she’s quiet, toying with the rim of her shot glass. How she truly felt? What in the hell did that mean, anyway?

When she doesn’t reply, and when he obviously gets the sense that she was not going to, he continues. “I don’t know...what happened to you, but I’m sorry for it. Just - please stop making me out to be your enemy.”

Her eyes move to his own and again, she gets the sense that he knows exactly what he’s talking about, that he knows exactly how she is, and it irritates the hell out of her, mainly because of the warmth it gives her and she hates that it’s so easy.

“Fine,” she says stubbornly, like a child.

“Friends, then?” He raises his shot glass, his eyes crinkling with the soft smile upon his face.

She smiles back - a big, forced smile that causes him to chuckle. “Friends.”

Their glasses clink and they drink. Killian finishes first, and as he sets his drink on the counter, he stands straight and gestures his pointer finger to her.

“Good. So then, as friends, I’d like to make a proposition.”

Emma pulls the glass away from her lips and looks at him cautiously. “And what’s that, Jones?”

“You need sex.”

She was mid-drink as he replied; his answer was blunt and quick and catches her off guard. Her drink dared to spew from her mouth, but she resisted, and after she swallowed, she managed a shocked, “What?”

“Obviously I wasn’t the lad for it, so - “ he begins looking around the room, as if taking in her options. “What of that lad there?” He points somewhere in the corner, and Emma did not have to look to know that she would not have sex with him. Because she would not be having sex with anyone.

“Uh, no,” she said firmly.

“Him?”

“No, Killian -”

“Come on, if I were a bird -”

“No, Jesus, what’s wrong with you? I’m not - ready for that, okay?” Emma looks away from him, at her lap.  “There’s a reason I didn’t do it yesterday with you, and it’s not because you’re not “the right lad for it” because obviously you’re -”

He grins at her, awaiting her next word, but she just rolls her eyes. “Anyway. No.”

Killian sighs, his grin gone.“What is it?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“The bloody walls you put up around yourself, you’re doing it again.”

Being friends with this man had looked like an appealing option before, as he was, admittedly, someone she could see herself having fun with, but now it was just obnoxious, the way he appeared to think he had known her for years. “Look, I know we’re supposedly ‘friends’ now, but you still hardly know a thing about me.”

“Well, perhaps if you’d let me get to know you, I can!”

And suddenly, with his raised voice, she breaks, and the annoyance within her is at its peak, and damn it, she just wants him to shut up. “I just went through a bad break-up, okay? Happy?” She glances carefully at him, hoping he doesn’t see the sudden vulnerability brought on with this confession. “Leave me alone now.”

She’s glad that it shuts him up though, at least for the moment. She’s back to playing with the rim of her glass, and with one glance she sees that he’s doing the same, his finger circling around the cup. “I’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“Yeah, save it,” she bites back, irritated at him for pushing her this far.

They are both quiet again, the silence between them reaching a new kind of awkward - something further than simply having spent the night crying to a stranger.

“New proposition,” he says suddenly. He gestures to the bartender again, and looks at Emma with devilish eyes.

“What now?” she groans, surprised that he had the boldness to continue speaking to her.

Killian smiles, a smile that, in her experience of the short time she’s known the man - meant trouble. “We both get drunk off our arses.”

A grin slowly grows on her face and she can’t help but laugh. “Alright,” she gives in. “Now you’re talking.”

**[ part ii. ] and i fall down sometimes**

The routine is simple:

Daytime dramas on weekend mornings.

Darts and drinks on weeknights.

Lunch on Thursdays; Killian always picking Emma up from work.

A friendship.

No strings attached.

His eyes scan the room, looking for a flash of blonde (there were plenty, but Emma’s was different - hers had a particular, appreciative shine to it). At last, he spotted her by the dartboard, but she was not alone. A broad-shouldered man stood before her, and judging by Emma’s forced, tight-lipped smile, she didn’t much enjoy his company.

She caught eyes with Killian and he could see a bit of light enter them as she did so. As if signaling to him, she widens them and raises her eyebrows, as if a look of alarm should tell him everything.  As the broad-shouldered man looks away, fortunately distracted by his friend, she mouths to Killian from across the room with panicked eyes. Help me!

Killian chuckles to himself. He is admittedly a bit surprised that she even needs the help, given that she could shoot down any man’s advances, not matter how well-meaning.

He holds himself a little higher as he begins to cross the room, the confidence coming to him naturally. With a forced tone of ferocity, he taps the perpetrator on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, mate, but what business have you got flirting with my girlfriend?” Emma’s look behind him makes Killian want to burst with laughter, for he knows that his voice is several octaves deeper than usual, all the more to sound menacing, at least.

The man turns, confusion etched across his face “Oh. She your - oh, I’m - I didn’t know -”

“Well, now you do,” Killian says.

“I - sorry.” The stranger ducks away and pulls his drunken friend along with him. They rush towards the exit and Killian waits until they leave before he turns to his _“girlfriend”_.

“Thanks for that,” she says, giving him a small smile. She hands him a few darts and turns to face the dartboard.

“Not a problem.” Killian fidgets with the dart before throwing one, his mark a few inches away from the bullseye. “Say, love...when are you going to start, y’know, dating again?” He asks this slowly and cautiously, for he knows her better by now and is perfectly aware how she’d react, though he can’t help the biting curiosity. For weeks, she’d been constantly turning down men who’d offer to buy her a drink, and Killian was growing genuinely worried for his friend - after all, he couldn’t be the only man in her life. He only wanted to see her have fun, not shut up by herself all the time.

“Told you,” Emma says, throwing her own dart. “When I’m good and ready.”

“You’ve been saying that for the two months I’ve known you.”

“Is it a crime that I want to be alone?” She gives him hard eyes and a frown, a look that says _Why the hell are we bringing this up? Again?_

“Not a crime, but a little, well, unhealthy,” Killian says.

“It’s not unhealthy if being alone is what makes me happy.”

“You only think you’re happy, love.”

“And that’s not happy?”

“No - not the way you’re doing it. You’re forcing yourself to be happy. Telling yourself this is what you want, because you don’t want to be hurt again.”

Emma side-eyes him, a look of annoyance crossing her face. “Okay, Jones. When I said ‘Let’s go out tonight’, I meant _let’s have a few drinks and throw some darts_. Not - “ she gestures to Killian, “ _this_.”

Tired of the banter, Killian drops it, though not without a few plans formulating in his mind. “Apologies. I’ll go get us drinks.”

He leaves her with a soft smile and no hints that he’s already got something up his sleeve.

**~ K & E ~**

“Well, how did it go?” The beam on Emma’s face says everything. Killian falls into the seat across from her with an air of defeat.

“I think you know exactly how it went.”

“Whatever do you mean?” says Emma, tilting her head in a show of false innocence.

“The little note you stuck on my back, Swan, don’t deny it.”

The look of confusion marked across her face gradually evolves into one of guilt, and she smiles grandly, reading the post-it note Killian spoke of. _Single man looking for someone to cuddle with! For a good time, call me._

“Oh, c’mon. It’s funny.”

“For you, maybe. I’m in a bit of a dry spell, you know. I needed this.”

Emma scoffs and narrows her eyes at him, doubtful. “What, the sex? Please. Don’t act as if it’s so hard for you to get a girl home. Playing the victim is a bit pathetic, Killian.”

“You know what does make me feel better though?” He sits straight in his chair and reaches across the table to grab Emma’s drink as his own.

“What’s that?”

The corner of his mouth turns upwards and he does the thing where he lowers his face but keeps his eyes directly on her. “The fact that you want me all to yourself.” He raises his eyebrows and waves the post-it note to her, throwing it across the table to land in her lap.

Immediately, Emma’s eyes roll. “Don’t get the wrong idea, buddy.”

“Well, don’t act as if it’s completely impossible for you to fancy a bloke like myself - you were ready to jump on this twenty minutes after we had first met. In fact, if I recall correctly, you took me to your apartment after one drink.”

“That was before I knew you. The real, jerk-y, douchebag behind the... undeniably attractive bastard.”

“Come on, Emma. You must stop this. We’re good as friends.”

“Oh, god, shut up, please,” Emma says, though she smiles.

Killian brought his drink to his lips, his eyes gazing at her over the rim of his cup, a hint of mischief flashing through them. Something pulls at Emma’s stomach, but she ignores it, and even tries to shove it away, though the attempt is futile and that pulling, nagging sensation is with her for the rest of the evening.

**~ K & E ~**

“Yeah, no, I’m not going with you on your weird ‘bro-bonding’ boat ride, whatever that means.”

“And why not?”

“Because those are your guy friends, and I’d be the only girl, and well, that’s just awkward. You guys will be messing around and yeah. No. I don’t know them.”

She struggles to keep her phone balanced between her cheek and shoulder, as her fingers were covered with raw cookie batter. The voice on the other end belonged to none other than Killian, who was being oddly insistent.

“Well, that’s why I’m inviting you, love. To get to know them. Come on, it doesn’t make sense that my bloke friends don’t know my girl friend.”

“Female friend.”

“That too.”

“No.”

She grabs a hunk of cookie batter and places it on the sheet, awaiting a reply, but all she hears is silence. Finally, a (very dramatic, very overly done) sigh is heard through the line.

“Alright. What if it was just you and me?”

“Just you and me? On your boat?” Emma questions, imagining the situation. “Sounds a little, uh - more-than-friendly to me.”

“Only if you take it that way.”

“Wasn’t the point of the boat ride for me to meet your other friends?”

“Yeah, it was. I’m over it now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the reason now?”

“For us to spend time together of course.” His voice has no hint of humor or sarcasm in them and something about that scares her. Besides, they’re nearly always together. In fact, she was getting a bit tired of seeing him every weekend.

“As friends,” she says; it is not posed as a question, but a statement, as if that is the only possible way she’d be on a boat with him.

“Of course.”

“We’re always hanging out though.”

“Yeah, but it’s always at a bar.”

“What? You’re the one who always says ‘Let’s go to the bar!’”

“Yeah, and now I’m saying ‘Let’s go on a boat!’”

Emma is quiet for a moment. She glances towards the door; her parents should arrive any minute, and the cookies weren’t in the oven yet. “Look, Killian,” she starts, “ - I’m busy today, okay? It’s very - endearing, I guess - that you want to spend time with me, but I’ve got things to do today.”

At that moment, there was a rap on the door, and Emma silently curses to herself as she grabs a towel rag and did her best to remove any batter from her hands. Taking hold of her phone and clutching it to her chest, she moves to her door and peers through the peephole.

She would have expected to see two figures standing outside her doorway, one a tall man with an eager smile on his face and the other a smaller woman, likely holding a bottle of wine or something of the sort - her parents. However, only one figure stands - decked in a leather jacket and hair a tousled mess. He holds a phone to his ear.

Emma purses her lips and brings the phone back to her own ear.

“No worries, Swan,” says Killian, his voice heard from both the phone and between the door. “I’ve already called your parents and asked for a rain check.”

Despite herself, she smiles, and is a little thankful, though it does not lessen her anger at this man’s forwardness. There was always a little pressure on her when her parents would come and visit, and now that was gone thanks to Killian. Though, with it, came a whole new kind of pressure.

She shuts her phone and opens her door.

“So. Why am I only hearing of this boat just now?”

**~ K & E ~**

“Admit it, Swan,” he says, kicking his feet up onto her lap.

She shoves his feet off immediately. “Admit what?”

“Admit how kidnapping you onto my boat was a great idea.” He smiles at her, and though his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, she knows they are studying her, and it unnerves her all the same. “Look at you, enjoying the view.”

Emma looks towards the ocean, soft against the orange horizon. The breeze is light, but still has few strands of her hair flying around her face. She could not deny that she was, in fact, enjoying the view, for one such as this was a rarity.

“First of all, you didn’t kidnap me. You could never even try. I’d kick your ass.”

He chuckles, and to deliberately vex her, he sets his feet on her lap again, though this time, she’s too distracted to do anything about it. “That you would.”

“And second,” she says, “I guess you’re right. This is okay.”

“Just okay? I’m heartbroken, Swan.”

“Alright,” she gives in, turning away from the ocean to look at him earnestly, “It’s pretty nice. The view.”

His gaze is set directly on her and the smile is gone, replaced by something entirely different. “I know.”

**~ K & E ~**

His terrible habit of kicking his feet onto things is something she’s yet to accept, something she’s determined to even fix. “Hey. Feet off the table,” she says, sitting besides him on her couch.

His feet swing down to the floor and he sits up straight, stealing a chip from Emma’s bag. “Apologies.”

The television drones on with its daytime drama, the two on the couch occupied with its poor acting and overly theatrical plotlines. They make jokes and poke fun at the appropriate times, commenting on one actor’s terrible fake accent, or how it was unlikely that a sister would behave that way towards her own. But something nags on Killian’s mind and he changes the topic during a commercial break.

“So - I don’t mean to push, Emma, but...me and the lads are heading to the bar tonight, and…”

Emma stops him. “This again? Why do you continuously try to get me to meet your friends? What? Are they just that amazing?”

There’s a moment when Killian thinks he should simply just back down, for Emma Swan was stubborn and harsh and, in fact, a little scary. But he doesn’t, because damn it, he was doing this for her own benefit - and at times, he could be even more stubborn than she. “I just - I’d like for all of us to hang out together, you know?”

“Nah, it’s more than that. You’re persistent, like you’re on some sort of -” She stops mid sentence, her eyes widening as she tilts her head in realization.

“You’re trying to set me up with one of them.”

She had always been quick to notice things, and Killian could not pretend any longer that he had an innocent motivation behind it all. “They’re good men, Emma, if you just -”

“Look, Killian,” she says, setting down her bag of chips on the table, “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you. I don’t need this. I don’t need a relationship to make me happy.”

His next words are quieter, for he knows they’re ones that would likely set her off. “Well, when you’re out of one, you’re downright miserable.”

“And how do you know? You’ve only ever known me when I was out of a relationship. What’s to say I’m not like this all the time?”

“No one’s like that all the time, darling.”

“Whatever.”

When she stands up and walks towards her kitchen, her movement tense, Killian stands to follow her, not yet willing to let this go.

“Come with me tonight,” he says, leaning against the breakfast counter. “A few drinks. Meet them. I won’t set anything up, I swear...but…” he smiles at her, “if anything happens between you and one of them...I certainly won’t get in the way.”

He walks around the counter towards her. She’s frowning, and that’s exactly the reason Killian wants to see her out tonight. “All I want, Emma, is to see you happy. Smiling.”

Something about this warms Emma, something about it has her anger melt, because no one’s ever really cared for her like this; no one’s ever really bothered to try to make her happy, besides her own parents. She thinks that, damn it, maybe she just let him try. And despite herself, her frown turns into a chuckle and she’s smiling.

“There it is,” he says, smiling in return.

**~ K & E ~**

They’re all meeting at the usual bar, and Emma is in, in her eyes, a decent getup consisting of a bold red strapless dress and her hair in its usual curls. Anxiety runs through her, though anyone looking on would hardly be able to tell, for she walks with poise and confidence.

The bar is ridden with clumsy drunkards shooting pool, playing darts, or at the counter, hitting on uncomfortable women. The atmosphere is the same as usual, though there’s a tense pressure in the air that surely has to do with the reason Emma is even there in the first place.

Killian sees a bright spot of red in the corner of his eye and his head shoots up - Emma Swan has arrived and she is looking mighty attractive. “Ah. There she is,” he says to the three men besides him. He waves her over, lightly calling out her name. She smiles brightly and shuffles past the crowd to make her way over to their table. As she sits on Killian’s right, she shoots them all a gentle smile.

“Gentlemen,” Killian says,  “This is Emma. Emma - this is Robin, Jefferson, and August.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you all,” she says, and Killian is surprised at the tone of her voice; it’s the first time in a while he’s heard it easygoing and genuine.

“Lovely to meet you, as well, Emma,” says the middle one, Jefferson. “Killian’s told us all about you, of course.”

“Has he? All good things, I hope.”

“No worries, Killian’s a loyal friend.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Emma, shooting Killian a look. The latter just grins at her, a silent thank-you exchanged. He was grateful that she came out tonight, that she even dressed up for it, that she was trying.

The rest of the evening becomes a blur, small talk dealt between the four of them. There are times when Killian is worried that Emma is bored, times when she taps her foot on the ground seemingly impatiently, or drums her fingers on the table while the boys talk about boy things. It’s clear that she feels out of place, that she feels she doesn’t quite fit in with Killian and his other friends, but he’s determined to change that.

“Emma,” says Killian, pulling her from her gaze at the floor, “tell the boys about your encounter with that criminal fellow - what’s his name...Greg something…?”

“Greg Mendell?” says August, perking up. “Shit - you’ve met Greg Mendell? He’s in all the newspapers. How the hell did you survive that?”

Emma’s mouth drops a little and it’s obvious that she’s unsure how to respond. “I - uh - yeah.”

“She did more than meet him,” says Killian, “She’s the reason he’s behind bars. Isn’t that right?”

The corners of her mouth turn upwards ever so slightly and she dives into her tale of the infamous Mendell, local murderer and dangerous criminal. The night wears on as she does so, creeping onto the four of them faster than they’d like, even Emma, for she had their interest now and they were more than pleased to be in her company.

Killian thinks he’s saved the night, and admittedly, he’s quite content with himself. He catches the way her smile is not forced, but instead, she laughs boisterously. He watches her eyes widen with amazement when Jefferson tells her about his crazy antics, or August when he tells her about Robin’s insane code of honor, never able to tell a lie. He sees the color in her face, and she appears healthy, happy, and he wonders why he didn’t drag her for a night out sooner than this, because obviously, she really needed it.

But it all seems a lie when Robin suggests they play darts.

Everyone seems to appeal to the idea, but as they rise from their seats, one remains. Emma stays seated, and she appears uncertain.

“Something wrong?” asks Killian.

Emma purses her lips and shakes her head. “Nah, I just - I gotta go home, is all. It’s getting late. I should go.”

And now she stands, only, it’s to leave. Quicker than necessary, she grabs her coat from behind her chair and pulls it onto herself. “Thank you guys, really, for tonight. I had fun,” she smiles, but this smile does not have the same impression as her previous ones that night. This one was laced with doubt and regret and uncertainty.

She leaves the table without another word, shoving past the crowd to the exit.

“Well...it was nice to meet you too,” says August, raising an eyebrow at Emma’s behavior. While the rest of the men seem to accept it as they move on to play darts, Killian, however, remains perplexed. Why in the bloody world would she leave like that? She had only been laughing along with their jokes a few minutes ago.

Before he knows it, he dashing after her, leaving his friends behind, confused. Bumping into various drunkards and muttering apologies, he sees no bold red amidst the crowd of dull browns and blues.  

But there’s a flash of it leaving the doorway, and Killian pushes past the strangers to reach her before its too late.

He’s outside when he calls for her, the snow blowing furiously past them.

“Swan. Swan!” He tries his best to fight against the biting cold, tries his best to reach her.  He ignores the stares he receives because he’s finally caught up to her and grabs her arm. “Where are you going? I thought it was going well.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t,” she sighs, pushing her hair away from her face.

“What?”

“It wasn’t,” she says, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I mean, not on my side, anyway. I’m sorry, Killian, I mean, I like them, I do, and Jefferson, even, I thought - might have happened - but I guess I’m not...ready still.”

Killian is staring at her in disbelief, because he had believed, truly believed, that he had done the seemingly impossible and got his friend to come out of her shell and have fun.

“So then don’t be. Just go inside, have a drink, take the whole romance thing off your mind. It doesn’t have to be about that. Just friends having a good time.” He feels himself practically begging by now, and internally, even he’s wondering why he cares so much, why he’s so determined to see this through and why he’s incredibly insistent on making her happy.

“No, it’s not just that,” she starts. “Look, I never even...really went out much, before you and I met. I’m not great at small talk. I don’t have many friends. Or...any. Sort of a loner. And with Neal, I - I gave up so much for him, just for him to throw it all away. I had never, ever opened up to anyone like I did Neal and, and it’s like it didn’t matter to him. He put my guard down, and...he’s the reason it’s back up. It’s just - it’s uncomfortable, these people trying to ‘get to know me’. Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m going to go home.” And with that, she pulls her arm from Killian’s grasp, tightens her coat around herself and leaves him alone in the night.

He watches her leave, lets her do so, though the urge to chase after her is strong. For a fleeting moment, he’s angry; not at Emma, not at himself, but at this Neal, who clearly messed her up to the point of no return. He wonders how anyone could do anything even remotely bad to such a sensation as Emma Swan.  He wonders how anyone could resist that smile of hers, rare as it was, bright as the sunshine and lightening your heart with just a glance. He wonders how anyone could do anything but try to make her smile.

**~ K & E ~**

He picks her up at eight, and hopes she’s actually ready. He knows her well enough to know that she takes more than enough time to dress up for an event. In the end, he supposes it’s all worth it.

Rapping on her door twice, he straightens his back as well as his tie. The door swings open in a few seconds, Emma Swan standing in the doorway. She wears a new dress, one he’s never seen before - it’s a darker shade of green and drops to the floor, no doubt following behind her as she moves. Her face is graced with the lightest of make-up, though her eyelashes are as bold as ever and it has the color in her eyes pop even more. In short, she is beautiful, graceful, and far more stunning than Killian could ever expect.

He realizes he’s staring (with his mouth slightly agape) and shakes his head slightly to come back to reality. “So, Swan,” he says, keeping his typically casual composure, “ready for a likely dull evening?”

“Just because there will be no rum doesn’t mean it’ll be dull,” says Emma with a weak smile.  “Besides, didn’t you say there was an open bar?”

“I only said that to make sure you agreed to come along with me,” Killian confesses, holding his arm out for her to take hold.

“Since when are you such a gentleman?” she asks, though she takes the arm anyway after locking her door shut.

“If I’m being forced to attend my company’s Christmas party, I might as well go all out, eh?”

She just smiles at him, a relaxed smile, a modest one, one that really shouldn’t have his heart pumping so hard.

**~ K & E ~**

“So how much money _do_ you make?” are the first words out of her mouth when they enter the banquet hall. It’s a reasonable question, for the place is decked out with crystal chandeliers, red drapes hanging from the walls, and his co-workers in suits far more expensive than his own.

“Trust me,” says Killian, “most of the company’s funds go directly to saving for worthless parties such as these.”

He guides her with a single hand on her back, navigating her to an empty table. Keeping up the gentlemen shtick, he pulls out her chair and gestures for her to sit. She does so, not without a grin that pokes fun at his actions, and he takes the seat besides her.  

“What do we do all night? Sit, drink, and act pretentious?” Emma says.

Killian chuckles. “Essentially, yes.”

She folds her arms on the table, and looks at Killian, pursing her lips in a smile that made her cheeks bloat. “So, Jones - what’ve you been up to? It’s been a while since we saw each other last.”

“It’s been a week,” he replies, though she’s right - they’re usually at the bar or at each others’ homes at least every other day.

“Yeah, what’s up with that? No phone call begging me to come be your wingman at the bar? Odd behavior, Jones,” she says, her tone light and teasing.

“Because when I do ask you to be my wingman, you stick post-it notes on my back and make a fool out of me,” he says, as she snickers. “Nah, it’s just - I thought you needed your space. After meeting my friends.” He eyes her warily, waiting her reaction to such a topic.

Emma nods her head once as her smile fades. “Right. That. Sorry about...y’know, running off with nothing but a sorry-ass excuse.”

“You want to tell me why you really left?”

“Not even a little bit,” Emma says, distracting herself with the edge of the tablecloth. Killian begins to regret bringing it up, realizes he should have made up some other excuse as to why he didn’t call to hang out with her this week.

“ - Nope, no, we’re not doing that,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Doing the thing where you don’t smile all evening. The thing where you are cryptically moody and I’ve no clue why. We’re not doing that; tonight we’re having fun,” Killian says, tone determined.

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

“Such a bloody pessimist,” says Killian. He stands from his chair, pulling Emma up along with him. “Come dance.” He begins tugging her towards the clearing in the center of the floor.

“No one’s dancing, though,” argues Emma, clumsily following him.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t.”

He pulls her into his grasp and places her hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, love; have you ever done a waltz?”

Following the beat of the classical music playing from overhead, Killian begins to move; backwards, forwards, to the side, and as he does so, he gracefully guides Emma along the floor, the back of her dress gliding behind them like a shadow.

She appears a little shocked, a little confused, though her lips curve upwards all the same. “I think the real question here is where the hell did you learn?”

“I am much more of a gentleman than you take me for, Swan,” Killian replies simply.

Other couples look on at the two of them, the only ones dancing in a room amidst well acknowledged business associates. They’re inspiring, for sooner than later, there are more than just them out on the floor, as they become surrounded by elegant dancers following their moves.

There are times during their dance when Killian thinks he’s about to stumble over his feet; times when he wants to sit from a lightheadedness that plagues his mind. There’s a certain warmth in the areas where he and Emma touch - their hands, her left hand on his shoulder. The dim lighting reflects on her in such a way that has him just a little befuddled. The way she smiles at him after having been twirled has him melt inside, and for some unknown, peculiar reason, he cannot keep his eyes off of his friend.

For she is beautiful - this he has always known, ever since that first fateful night at the bar, but now more than ever, he is completely, totally aware of the fact that _she is beautiful_. She is radiating starlight and it nearly blinds him. Her green eyes soften as they dance further into the song, gazing at him with nothing but warmth. Strands of her hair threaten to fall from her pulled-up bun and it takes everything in him to not brush them behind her ear. And that chill - that constant, neverending chill that runs through him every time they touch.

The song ends, and they pull apart, though the chill never fades.

“Well, that was...fun,” Emma says, tilting her head slightly and giving Killian a light smile. He returns it shakily, still feeling vaguely faint.

They return to their table, and this time, Emma rushes over to pull out Killian’s chair with a grand, teasing grin on her face.

“You’re not going to pull it out as I begin to sit, are you?” Killian says jokingly, raising his eyebrow.

“Do you really believe I’m that cruel?”

“Indeed,” he says, though he sits anyway without falling to the floor. She takes the seat besides him, more of a jump into the chair rather than a calm sit.

“Killian!” a sudden new voice rings out. The called for turns his attention away from Emma and spots his co-worker approaching their table.

“Ah, William,” says Killian, “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. And yourself? Glad to see you could make it,” he says, placing his hands on the back of an empty chair.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Killian responds. “This is Emma, by the way.” There’s a slight, indiscernible pause before he adds - “My friend.”

William reaches across the table to shake her hand, as she does the same. “Lovely to meet you,” he says.

Emma nods and smiles. “And you.”

“I’ll see you around later tonight then, Jones?” he says, making his way to leave. “I’d stay, but the big boss is keeping an eye on me. I’m on on catering duty, you see.”

“I didn’t know you cooked, William.”

“Oh, I don’t. I’m just handing the food out, y’know. Bein’ the little servant,” he says. “See you guys around.” With that, he leaves them, heading over to the stage.

Then, Emma turns to look at Killian. “I was under the impression that everyone here would be some sort of fat cat. This William seems pretty, well, normal.”

“Yeah, that’s William Smee. He’s decent. I can tolerate him. Him and this other fellow…” Killian rummages through a mental list of his co-workers. “Graham, I think? Yeah, that’s his name. I haven’t seen him around yet; we should later tonight.”

“Good,” says Emma, “I don’t think I can tolerate a whole evening with just you here to entertain me.”

He is still a little shaken from their dance, still a little disoriented, but he manages to flash her a smile, though he can feel it lack his usual charm.

“I - hm - how about some drinks, then?” he says, rising from his chair.

“I thought you were lying about the open bar.”

“I was,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not willing to pay.” Truthfully, he felt he needed a moment away to recover his thoughts. “I’ll be just a moment.”

He turns away from Emma and heads towards the bar.

It is like a storm rages furiously within himself, but not rain, because this is icy, this gives him chills and has him shivering all over. Even so, his own face burns with heat, and he slides his hand over the lower portion to try and sort himself out.

“What can I get for you?” asks the bartender, when Killian has arrived.

“Two glasses of champagne will do. Jones is the name,” he says, moving a hand through his hair. Blankly, he stares at the ground, contemplating what in the hell just happened on that floor.

He was not an idiot; he knew what was stirring inside him. He knew what it meant and all - only, he didn’t want to accept it. Emma was his friend, for Christ’s sakes...his best friend, if he was being honest. He had fun with her, things with her were easy… whether it be a night out at the bar, or a day inside with popcorn and bad television… she was there for that, and it was so simple with her. They got along swell, played off each other easily… had grown to care for each other as friends, wishing to see the other happy and smiling. Why should he ruin that? Things were uncomplicated; why make them hard?

It had happened a long time ago; he felt this. Some time along the way, he had stopped thinking of her as just a friend, but something more; only, he didn’t realize it until just now, as they had danced.

Despite her harshness throwing him off at first, he had gotten to know her, and see that behind this prickly surface was a careful person, broken and searching, looking for a home. At the same time, she was clever and independent, bold and unapologetic, fierce and fire. To top it all off, she was more stunning than the stars themselves - outshining them, bringing light to his night.

“You alright, sir?” asks the bartender, handing him two glasses of champagne.

Killian’s head shoots up, and he nods in response. “Completely. Thank you,” he says, taking the glasses. He makes to leave, but the bartender stops him before he can.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

The bartender is smiling, an amused smile, and he points to Killian’s back. “You’ve got a little - something on your back there.”

Confused, Killian places a glass on the bar counter and reaches behind him. On his back, he feels paper, a small piece of paper - and he grins.

Much like Emma Swan to place a post-it note on his back at a fancy event.

He pulls it off, without losing his smile, and reads it - _Single man looking for someone to cuddle with. I’ve got a boat. It’s really impressive._

His grin grows larger, his eyes close as he consider the ridiculousness of this woman, and he shakes his head in disbelief at how

utterly

perfect

she is.

And those stars that cannot compare to Emma, that envy her shine, they begin to align and this blissful moment is one of pure realization, and

damn it.

Damn it.

He is in love.

She is sunshine, and starlight, and euphoria, and he is in love.

He considers this on his walk back to their table; and he thinks about her, and he hopes she is ready, hopes he is good enough for her to be ready.

He doesn’t see the man with her, because he is too caught up in his own ecstasy.

He doesn’t hear her laughing with him, doesn’t see her sincere smile.

Until he reaches the table and looks up.

“Killian,” says Emma, “I was just about to text you.”

A man sits on the chair besides her. Graham.

“Jones!” he stands and holds out his hand. “Glad to see you here. I was a little iffy on coming myself, but you know, company requirement and bull like that.”

Killian only nods, slightly thrown off.

“Think you might want to make one more trip back to the bar?” says Emma to Killian, though she eyes Graham with those soft, soft eyes.

“No need,” says Graham pushing his empty chair in the table. “I was just about to head home.” He turns to Emma, takes her hand, and kisses the back of it. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Swan.” Turns to Killian. “See you on Monday, mate.”

Emma watches him leave, nothing short of an ear-to-ear grin on her face. She sighs blissfully, and turns to Killian. “Okay, Killian. I think I’m ready.”

And she was ready.

Just not for him.

**~ K & E ~**

The wind bit at her face, her hair flying in a storm around her. Her arms tightened against her chest against the cold as she rushed past blurry figures, trying to make it home as fast as she could and avoid any further embarrassment.

She felt stupid for rushing out of the bar like that - and not even with a good excuse. Only, she couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t pretend.

She could not pretend to look at his face and feel nothing. She could not pretend that the surge of electricity that soared through her body from a single accidental shoulder brush with him was coincidental.

She could not pretend that he was just a friend. Not anymore. She wasn’t sure when it happened, when the purely platonic, innocent friendship she had with him had grown into something more, but she was sure of one thing - that she didn’t want any part of it. He had been her friend, an actual, real, genuine friend who cares for her and just gets her. And then of course she has to go and ruin it with romantic feelings. Damn it.

Perhaps things could have been different if he too reciprocated her feelings, but, pathetically, she knew he did not, that he could not, not with these constant attempts to set her up with one of his own friends.

And what she had said to him, that she had never opened up to anyone like she had Neal before, that was a lie. She had opened up to him, potentially even more than she had Neal, because her guard was not up because she had not been expecting anything out of their relationship other than pure, unadulterated friendship. Unfortunately, it appears she got a little more than she bargained for.

Whatever. As much as she wanted to cry into her pillow and feel sorry for herself, she knew better than to let herself even go that far. To resort into that pitiful version of Emma Swan like she had after Neal was all kinds of pathetic. And she wouldn’t hide either, because that was weak and she certainly was not weak.

She would simply shove her feelings away, as best as she could, because there was no better option.

But one came along not long after, and its name was Graham.

**[ part iii. ] and i'm not letting go, you hold the other line**

_I’m coming over in about ten. The show with that brazilian actor you fancy is on channel 8 right now.- Killian Jones, 9:21 AM_

_Emma? Did you get my last text? I’m coming over. - Killian Jones, 9:29 AM_

_Alright, don’t act surprised when I get there then. - Killian Jones, 9:36 AM_

She was, of course, surprised when he got there. She had opened the door cautiously, obviously oblivious to the fact that Killian was coming.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling her night robe tighter around her chest.

“Still in your pajamas, Swan?” Killian says, brushing past her into the apartment. “It’s nearly ten. You’ve never been one to sleep in.”

“Killian,” she says, tone hard. “What are you doing here?” She follows him into the livingroom and watches as he flicks on her television, as comfortable as he would be in his own home.

“I told you; I was coming over. Brazil Bloke’s on the television.” He leaps from the couch and jogs into Emma’s kitchen, opening her fridge and rummaging through the food.

“Killian, this is really not...appropriate...right now,” Emma says. He looks at her, confused, because this is, really, normal routine for them.

“Because you’re not dressed?” he guesses. “Swan, I’ve seen you in much less than that before. No need to be suddenly shy.”

He pulls a soda can from the fridge and makes his way back to the couch. “Come on now, we’ve got a wondrous brazilian accent waiting for us.”

“I’m not playing around, Jones. You gotta go,” Emma says. “Like, right now.”

Her eyes are wide and glaring and there’s a clear frown on her face. “Why?” asks Killian.

The answer comes to him when suddenly, somewhere in her apartment, a shower turns on.

It dawns on him, and immediately, he feels ashamed, embarrassed, and completely awkward. He cannot even look Emma in the eye as he walks past her to the door.

“I’ll, um, go then,” he says, simply.

“Killian.”

She reaches out to him, but he ignores her. His movements are tense. His voice is barely audible. He slams the door a little too hard on the way out.

**~ K & E ~**

He doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

Can’t, can’t, can’t.

So why are flames engulfing him from the inside out?

**~ K & E ~**

“Hi,” Emma says to the receptionist, “Can you tell Killian Jones that Emma Swan is here to see him?”

The receptionist, petite and feminine with short blonde hair, nods politely to Emma, picking up her phone and dialing a number. Emma waits patiently, leaning against the counter, and observing the lobby’s various decorations.

“Emma Swan is here to see you,” says the receptionist into the phone. There’s a brief moment of silence before she pulls the phone away from her ear and gestures to Emma. “May I ask for what occasion?”

“Lunch,” Emma beams.

The receptionist repeats this into the phone. “You’re welcome,” she says as she hangs up. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” 

She feels out of place in the lobby, her big winter coat contrasting the silver trinkets on the counter, the metallic, modern decor on the walls. The awkward silence between her and the receptionist is one she thinks she can’t take for much longer.

Then, the elevator bings and out walks Killian Jones.

He does not appear happy, or in any way glad to see her. Something about it has Emma’s smile falter.

“Hey,” she says.

“What are you doing here?” he says, folding his arms.

“Um - lunch? We always have lunch on Thursdays.”

“I always come pick you up,” he says.

“I thought I could do it for a change. And it’s already 12:15, but you don’t look ready to go anywhere… _Were_ you going to come get me?”

“I was busy,” he says simply, tensely, unfairly.

Emma doubts this - the way he avoids looking at her, the way he folds his arms against his chest - it makes her doubt it.

“So…” Emma continues, “we’re not going?”

“No,” he says tersely. “I think it’s best if you - if you leave.”

Her chest clenches - once, twice - a third time as she leaves without another word.

The cold hits her hard when she exits, but it’s nothing compared to the rawness that’s suddenly overwhelming her being.

**~ K & E ~**

“Emma?”

It’s the third time he calls for her, and it’s the one that brings her back to reality.

“Yeah?” she says, looking up at him.

Graham appears concerned, the corners of his lips turning down. “Are you alright? You sort of - zoned out for a second there.”

“Yeah, I’m, um - fine. Just fine,” she says, though her actions betray her as she attempts to continue her lunch, hands unsettled.

Graham reaches across the table and grabs her hand, sending a jolt up her body. “Are you sure?”

Emma purses her lips and forces a smile. “Yes,” she says, “I’m sure.”

**~ K & E ~**

She’s on the couch and he’s in her kitchen, frying eggs.

He’s wearing her apron.

His hair is a mussed mess and his accent lilts in the tantalizing way she wishes she could resist.

He is not Killian.

He catches her looking and she smiles at him, a soft, shy one. He smiles back, and their relationship is just this. Smiles and glances and perfection. Perfection and glances and smiles.

It’s not enough.

**~ K & E ~**

_Is everything ok? We haven’t talked since that Thursday… Pls text back. - Emma Swan, 9:38 PM_

_Hey, they’re doing re-runs of Brazilian Accent guy’s show. I’ve got sandwiches. Come over? - Emma Swan, 9:57 PM_

_Not tonight, Emma. Sorry. And everything’s fine. - Killian Jones, 10:00 PM_

**~ K & E ~**

**  
**Five raps on his door. **  
**

Nothing.

Another two.

It swings open, and Killian stands in the doorway. He’s brushing his teeth, and his eyebrow raises when he sees its her.

“Emma?” he says through a mess of foam.

“I broke up with Graham,” says Emma, blunt. She keeps her eyes on him, to see his reaction, any hint, any at all.

All he does is furrow his eyebrows. “Hang on,” he says, and shuts the door. A few seconds later, it opens once more and the toothpaste is gone from his mouth. “You what?”

“I broke up with Graham.”

His stare is hard and penetrating through her being, his face unreadable. Adrenaline runs through Emma, for what this moment is, what this moment could be, how it could fix or ruin everything.

“Oh,” he says simply. His face turns hard abruptly, “And you’re looking for another shoulder to cry on, are you?” He turns away from her, leaving his door open for entry.

His words bite her, and initially, she’s hurt, embarrassed, wondering why in the hell she’s even trying.

But then she’s angry, and she’s in his apartment and shutting (slamming) his door. “What the hell is up with you?” she says, taking hold of his shoulder and turning him around to face her.

“Nothing.”

“Stop being a stubborn, immature bastard and just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Nothing,” he says again, and it only enlarges the fire within her.

She’s quiet, and she watches him - watches his chest heave slightly under his t-shirt, watches his eyes glaze over the floor blankly, watches his hands clench tightly.

“Look,” she says, “I’m going to take a chance here. A really stupid, risky chance. Whatever. That’s what you taught me right? Anyway. I broke up with Graham.” She tries to look him the eyes, tries to bring his attention to her, but he stays gazing at the floor. “I did so for a reason.”

Underneath his brow line, his eyes, brooding and blue; they flicker up at her finally.

“I did so for a reason,” she repeats, “I broke up with Graham.”

Unconsciously, she is stepping closer to him, feeling the heat radiate off his skin.

“What are you going to do about that?”

He does not respond immediately. He swallows and takes his gaze away from her again. “What reason?” he asks quietly.

Something sparks within her and if she’s wrong about everything, perhaps she doesn’t want to be right - “I think you know what reason.”

And finally,

_finally_

her lips are on his.

His response is instant, one arm tightening around her waist while his other hand tangles in her hair. She’s got one hand on the back of his neck and she’s trying to pull him closer than he already is. Her eyes shut and she is in pure bliss,

She has kissed him before, once upon a time, long before their adventures began, just once - as a stranger. This kiss was different - it meant something, it was full of feeling, not empty and wasted like the first.

They pull apart, but only their lips; their foreheads touch and they are staring at the other, breathing fast. The first words out of his mouth - “I’m sorry.” His eyes (his eyes that she so loves, that look at her like she's the sun) gloss over her face and soften. 

Emma responds with another kiss, but a light one, a gentle one, barely brushing his lips. Her hands hang onto his shoulders and she feels as if she could melt with his touch, so long waited for.

For the rest of the night they become a tangle of limbs and love and passion; for the rest of their lives they become inseparable, and the routine is simple:

Daytime dramas on weekend mornings.

Darts and drinks on weeknights.

Lunch on Thursdays; taking turns picking each other up.

A friendship.

But also a grand love with kisses snuck in between.


End file.
